Читать книгу Picked up at Sea - John C. Hutcheson - Страница 6

“What is the matter?” exclaimed the passenger, clutching hold of the steward’s leg under the idea that it was the cuddy table, and contriving to get into a sitting position on the cabin floor, as the Susan Jane lurched to and fro, swishing the water backwards and forwards, along with the plates and dishes and broken crockery, amongst them, mixed up with bits of meat and vegetables and bread in the most inharmonious sort of medley—“What’s the matter, Cap’en?”

“Struck by a squall,” said the skipper, getting on his feet at last, and holding on tightly to a brass rail outside the door of one of the berths, that he might not get floored again. “But, look at your patient, the boy! Is he mad, or what?”

“Golly!” ejaculated the steward, also finding his legs again, Mr. Rawlings having released them as soon as he sat up. “Me tink him goin’ hab fit!”

The captain’s professional instincts roused him even more rapidly than did a loaf of soppy bread which at that moment was dashed in his face by the counter swish of the water against the side of the cabin, and he sprang up ready for action as cool and collected as possible, considering the circumstances.

Before Mr. Rawlings or the skipper—who both rushed forward at once to where the boy was standing—could reach him, however, or the negro steward, who was directly in his way, but was too dumfoundered to prevent him, he made one leap over the table and rushed out of the cabin, with the same set look of terror, or some unearthly expression which they could not absolutely define, on his face, the blood streaming down from under the bandage across his forehead, making his appearance ghastly and uncanny, as the Scotch say, in the extreme. He resembled, more a galvanised corpse than anything else!

The skipper and passenger followed him instanter, Jasper, who had recovered from his first astonishment at the apparition, being not far from their heels; but when the two gained the deck, the confusion that was reigning there, and the perilous position of the ship, made them forget for the while the object that had called them forth.

Captain Blowser’s passion for “carrying on,” in the face of the treacherous weather the Susan Jane had already experienced in the Bay of Biscay, with the prospect of more to come, as the mate had pointed out from the warning look of clouds along the horizon in front, had brought its own punishment; for the ship had been taken aback through the wind’s shifting round, before the second mate Davitt, who had obeyed the skipper’s injunctions to the letter, had time to take in sail, even if he had endeavoured to do so without calling him first, as he had been enjoined on his leaving the deck.

The results of this recklessness were most unfortunate for the Susan Jane, as the fore-topmast had soon snapped off sharp at the cap like a carrot, bringing with it, of course, the fore-topgallant mast as well, and the main-topgallant mast, with their respective yards and other spars, and the jib-boom as well. The ship was consequently broached to, and tons of water were poured on to her from the mountainous waves that seemed to assail her on all sides at once, which, but for the fact of the hatches being closely battened down, would have soon filled her hold and caused her to founder.

Fortunately, there were no men aloft at the time the wind chopped so suddenly, or they must have been swept overboard with the wreck of the top-hamper, that was now grinding against the vessel’s side to leeward right under her quarter, and bumping with such force against her timbers as to threaten to stove them in. Altogether, with the whistling of the storm, that had risen up again as if imbued with fresh life, and the roaring of the sea, and the horrible creaking and crashing of the broken spars alongside, combined with the shouts of the men, who seemed lost for the moment how to act, and running here and there, purposelessly, without a guiding voice or hand to direct their efforts—the scene was a regular pandemonium of disorder!

If he had been reckless, however, Captain Blowser was a thorough seaman, and knew how to command, and enforce his directions when the necessity arose, as certainly was the case here.

Snatching a speaking-trumpet from the lanyard by which it was attached to the mizzen mast, he issued an order which called at once the scattered wits of the crew together, and set them about repairing the damages that had arisen, and preventing the further perils that stared them in the face; while the second mate at the same moment sprang to the wheel, which was revolving as it liked, now to starboard now to port as the waves met the rudder below, the poor helmsman who had previously controlled its action lying senseless on the deck, whither he had been thrown by the sudden concussion when the ship was taken aback.

“Down with the helm hard!” shouted the skipper, through the speaking-trumpet, his voice penetrating every part of the ship, fore and aft, above the roar of the elements and the noise on deck. “Clew up the courses,” was the next command; followed by an order to brace round the yards. And the Susan Jane eased a bit, running before the wind with the aid of her main-topmast and topgallant sail, mizzen-staysail and foresail, besides the remnants of her mainsail, that was split into fluttering rags. All the rest of her canvas so recently set being carried away, and floating alongside in a tangled wreck of spars and sails and ropes and rigging, matted together in an inextricable mass, Captain Blowser now gave orders to have cut away, without further delay, as the men could be spared for the duty.

The first mate, one of the most active of men, had, the instant he reached the deck, set to work to relieve the ship, but as he was casting loose the lee braces from the cleats the lurch of the sail caught him, and at the same moment the main-topgallant mast with all its belongings coming down with a run, he was stunned for a second by some portion of the falling gear, and before he could recover his balance or take hold of anything to save himself by, was carried overboard with the wreck.

At nearly the same precise instant the boy darted out of the cabin aft, just ahead of the skipper and Mr. Rawlings, as if impelled by some unfathomable instinct, and bounding right to the spot where Seth was being swept away to destruction, clutched hold of the seaman’s collar with one hand, and one end of the topsail-halliards with the other as they hung over the side, and there he remained, swaying to and fro, partly in the water and partly out, holding on with the strength of his single arm in a manner that no one would have thought a man, much less a boy, could do—and neither man nor boy, except one bred to the sea!

Seth saw it all, though no one else noticed the action, even amidst the conflicting emotions which passed rapidly through his mind at the moment of his infinite peril, just as a man falling from a cliff and expecting death every instant has the exact appearance of each foot of his rapid descent photographed on his brain. He saw the distended startled blue eyes of the boy, the light brown hair standing almost erect, the white bandage round his forehead, the blood on his face; but he could not tell nor think where he came from, and supposed, as he said afterwards, that he was an angel come to save him—and he would regard him as such all his life long!

“I’m darned if he warn’t,” he repeated, when the captain laughed when Seth mentioned his sensations at the time and detailed his thoughts, “fur he came just in the nick of time to grip holt o’ me; and if he hadn’t ben thaar I guess it ’ud a ben all sockdolagar with Seth, I does! He must have got what ye call a call, that he must! Guess you’d a thought him a angel, if you’d been in this child’s shoes!”

And so the crew all agreed when they heard from the steward Jasper his account of how the boy had started out of the captain’s cot, where he had him in a sound sleep, and came out of the cabin straight to help Seth—the negro’s version of the story losing nothing, it need hardly be mentioned, through his telling it with much pantomimic action, and his frequent affirmation, “Golly, massa, I tell you for true!”

Mr. Rawlings considered that the boy had been awakened by the crash of the water pooping the ship and the bleeding bursting out again from his wound, both of which recalled some fleeting thoughts, probably, of the shipwreck in which he had temporarily lost his reason. But the men would not hear of this at all, ascribing Seth’s rescue to some supernatural foresight on the part of poor “Sailor Bill,” as the boy was unanimously dubbed, and looked on thenceforth with the same respectful, pitying care with which the Indians regard any imbecile person, by everybody on board, from the cook Josh—another negro like Jasper, of whom he was intensely jealous, calling him, on the principle of “the pot and the kettle,” a “nigerant puss-proud black fellow”—up to the captain, who, to tell the truth, shared some of the superstitious regard of the men for their protégé!

For the poor boy had, without doubt, lost his senses. He neither spoke, nor laughed, nor cried, nor was any perceptible emotion of pleasure or pain displayed by him under any circumstances.

He did not once arouse from the lethargy that seemed to press down upon his brain again after he had so fortunately and so wonderfully come to the assistance of Seth Allport.

One thing, however, was noticeable in him afterwards, and that was, that from that moment he appeared to attach himself to the seaman, just as a dog attaches himself to some master whom he elects for himself, and was never easy out of Seth’s sight, following him everywhere about the ship, except at night, when he slept in the cabin.

Seth Allport, talking it over with the skipper and Mr. Rawlings, gave a scientific explanation from his medical lore. He said that Sailor Bill’s mental affliction was due to some psychological effect, which would wear away in time, and probably completely disappear if the boy had to undergo a shock precisely similar to that which had caused it. But, as neither he nor any one else knew what that shock was, of course they could not expedite Sailor Bill’s cure, nor do anything, save make him the dumb pet of the ship.

In the meantime the damages of the Susan Jane were made good, and in a day or two there were few signs of the mishap which had befallen her.